


Devil to Pay

by grumblebee



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Fandom, Turn - Fandom
Genre: Hand Jobs, High Seas Adventure, Laf ends up thirsting for his captain, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirate AU, Rimming, Violence, alternate history timeline, cabin boy Lafayette, forced stripping, pirate king Washington, slight humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: In the summer of 1779 Lafayette runs away from France in the hopes of starting a new, exciting life in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, his hopes are dashed as his ship is boarded by pirates with a nefarious (and wildly rebellious) past. There, he is kidnapped and assigned duty as a cabin boy, and under the watchful eye of a stern but alluring Captain.





	1. Chapter 1

_ 4 July, 1779 _

Choppy seas for the second week in a row, and Lafayette feared his stomach would never settle. In the dark quiet of his cabin he pressed a handkerchief to his lips, dabbing away the remnants of a subpar meal he had retched into a small waste basket. These past few weeks he’s parted with more meals than he’s digested, but the wait was almost over.

The  _ Isadora,  _ a merchant vessel headed for the Caribbean, had just entered tropical waters. 

The trip had been perilous, narrowly missing two separate storms as they crossed the Atlantic. The first had damaged sails, and slowed their journey. The second put them a few days off course. 

Every day that land was not in sight Lafayette became more and more fearful that he had made a grave mistake. 

Moving in the darkness, Lafayette lit a small candle stub. It flickered softly, providing a warm halo of light to the otherwise grim and damp cabin he found himself in. He set it down upon his writing desk, his heart faltering a second as the ship pitched and leaned in the choppy sea, exhaling only when he was certain the small flame wouldn’t tip over. The writing desk itself was rather bare, as no correspondence could be sent or received until he reached land, but his journal lay askew in the center. Lafayette thumbed through it’s ruffled pages until he stumbled across what he was looking for; a small letter tucked safely in its pages.

_ To the distinguished Marquis de Lafayette, _

_ I hope this letter finds you in good health, as I bring you joyous news. Following your requests to the letter, I have secured a small plot of land—complete with a handsome house— here in Barbados. The deed is in the name Gilbert DuPont, as are the funds you forwarded. But, my dear friend, I suggest you reflect deeply on this. Once you depart France you leave your name behind you. Whatever fortune you line your pockets with will provide a comfortable arrival, but will not be enough to last you all your days. There will be work. Hardship. You may even find yourself destitute. And if you wake up in a year or two and discover that your true home is France, that life will be lost to you. Your abandoned fortune will be claimed by those left behind, and you will be penniless.  _

_ I, of course, will do anything in my power to prevent such an ill fate from happening to you, dear friend. I was fortunate enough to find new life here, and with my name on some widely unpopular literature too. The world is shrinking, but there are still many places to hide. In the meantime, I will be waiting eagerly for news of your arrival, and look forward to greeting Monsieur Gilbert DuPont to his new life.  _

_ Your obedient servant, _

_ T. Jefferson _

Lafayette folded the letter along the same deep creases it had developed the past several weeks, and tucked it back into the privacy of the journal. 

The life of Gilbert DuPont _. _ It was his destiny ever since he met that ex-revolutionary in Paris. A man whose pen shouted a declaration that turned out to be nary a whisper. The colonies were still the colonies, and Lafayette colluded with this disgraced revolutionary to start his new life. One free of aristocracy and routine. One where he could be truly free. And so, on a dark night, Lafayette packed his bags and headed to the coast, boarding the  _ Isadora  _ as M. Gilbert DuPont, with nothing more than one of his modest rings as a token of his old life. 

The ship pitched forward again, forcing Lafayette to brace himself against the writing desk. Nearby the waste bin sloshed noisily, reminding Lafayette of his now empty stomach. Passing the rough linen handkerchief over his lips once more, Lafayette groped for the keys to his quarters. There was plenty of time to fret over his new life when they docked, but for now he needed a meal he could keep down. 

* * *

With the candle snuffed out and the room locked tight, Lafayette made his way towards the galley—arms outstretched to steady himself as the ship swayed back and forth. His traced the walls with his fingers, feeling the rough grain of the wood as he stumbled down the hall. Every so often a door would pass, bringing with it the sound of men chattering, accompanied by the smell of sweat and filth. Luxury was left at the doorstep of Versailles. 

Though passengers were not normally welcome aboard the  _ Isadora,  _ the Captain made an exception upon receiving a generous offer from Lafayette. The crew fell into line behind their captain, happy to share their meals with Lafayette as long as he made it worth their while. And he had, in the form of several cases of good Madeira. One of which was being popped open as he entered the galley.

“Gilbert! Back for a third dinner?” One man laughed, pouring himself a hefty glass. Lafayette smiled weakly, pulling out a chair to join the two men gathered around the galley table. 

“Only if I can keep it down, Arnaud.”

“Bread it is.” 

Arnaud took out a knife, carving into an already stale piece of bread sitting on the table top. Gilbert was long past grimacing at the less than fresh food offered at sea, and accepted it eagerly. “It ain’t cook’s best. We’re running low on supplies.” Arnaud said. He turned, taking another tin cup from the stack drying on the counter, and filled it to the brim with maderia. “Go on, now. It’ll bring some color to those cheeks.” 

Lafayette took it, but not to color his cheeks. The mouthful of stale bread he chewed on strained his jaw horribly. A little wine ensured he would not choke as it slid down his throat. Another man, Yves, chuckled into his cup.

“Don’t you worry, lad. Another couple days and we’ll sight land.” Yves said, his slender hands brushed away the crumbs littering the table top. Lafayette hummed happily. 

“Bridgetown will be a welcome sight.” 

“Bridgetown ain’t our first port, lad.” Arnaud said. “We still have stops to make before we pick up that Barbados rum. Nassau, Port Royal. Maybe we linger around a few days for fresh supplies and good times. Then we head to Bridgetown.” 

Lafayette gripped his cup tighter as a queasy sense of unease came over him. He had been under the impression that the  _ Isadora  _ was bound direct for Bridgetown. Prolonging his stay on the sea, bouncing to and from ports filled Lafayette with dread. The Caribbean Islands were still picking up the pieces after an era of piracy. Towns such as Port Royal may have cleaned up their act from a rough and rowdy pirate town, but it still oozed with scum and con artists. And he, a lone boy just becoming a man, would be a prime target for robbing if he wasn’t careful. 

His worry must have been apparent, as Yves waved his hand nonchalantly. “Don’t look so grim, Gilbert. We’re not dragging you to some pirate haven. The world’s not what it used to be. Ain’t nothing in those ports to fear but the bedbugs.”

“That’s no way to speak about a lady.” Arnaud quipped. Lafayette snorted into his cup, dribbling wine down his chin.

“Then it will just be that? Restocking the ship?” He asked hopefully. Yves reached for the bottle to refill his own glass, deathly quiet. Lafayette could not help but notice the twinge of concern on his face. Lafayette piped up, this time a bit quieter. “And then...an then smooth sailing on to Bridgetown?”

“Of course. Unless you’re scared of ghost stories—“

The ship groaned around them noisily, pitching once more with the waves. Yves swore under his breath as his cup slid to the left, allowing a good few sips of wine to hit the table top. “Ah shit.”

“Ghost stories?” 

It seemed hardly believable that a ghost story would rattle this crew, despite the high level of superstition amongst sailors. Ghost stories raised the hairs on the back of your neck, or frightened you into burning all your good candles to the wick to stave off the darkness. Why a ghost would disrupt their restocking was beyond Lafayette’s comprehension.

“It’s no ghost story, Yves, and don’t start. You’ll only scare the boy.” Arnaud hissed. Lafayette’s pulse quickened. 

“What is there to be afraid of?”

Arnaud took a long swig of his drink— as if to buy himself time between now and the horrible truths he would share. In the weeks Lafayette had known him, Arnaud had never been a timid man. He was smart and sharp witted in the way that allowed him to speak comfortably with anyone he met. So it was concerning to see him as he was now; shoulders hunched, eyes cast down into the cup he rolled between anxious palms. 

“Do you recall the skirmish in the colonies back in ‘76?” He asked. Lafayette nodded. It was an uprising the court at Versailles could not stop gossiping about. Colonists—plain folk— rejecting their god given king, destroying goods and starting riots. It was an embarrassing stain on the British crown, but one dealt with swiftly. He had heard many a limerick about how King George III bent his wayward subjects over the knee and righted their attitude. The spark of the revolution was snuffed out before it could ignite— the woefully unprepared farmers and merchants rising up were no match for the power of the crown. 

“Then you’ll recall their commander. A general by the name of George Washington.” Arnaud paused to lick his dry lips. “After being driven from New York, Washington’s troops fell apart. The British picked them off quickly, and the commanding officers disbanded and scattered to avoid the hangman. 

But instead of fleeing west over the mountains, Washington set out to sea. Him and a few loyal officers at first. Then came stories of where he’s been sighted. South Carolina, Georgia, then onward to the Caribbean. Wherever he goes  _ death follows.” _

Yves scoffed. “A load of horseshit. George Washington wasn’t a navy man. Not even a sailor. There ain’t no way he could have fled by sea and gotten away with piracy for three whole years—let alone be the scourge of the Atlantic. You want the truth? That man and his gaggle o’ boys got themselves wrecked at sea. And with a notorious name like his, those last lingering pirates are just crediting their plunders to him to avoid the noose.”

“It’s  _ not  _ horseshit.” Arnaud hissed through his teeth. “Not to me it isn’t.” Lafayette clenched his cup tightly between his palms, feeling more like a child caught between two bickering parents than a man at the table. He remained silent, letting Arnaud tell the story that so deeply unsettled him. 

“Before I worked this trade route I was a deckhand on the Northam—a British victualling vessel. During the skirmish, the British doubled the ships stationed in the Atlantic, and we were sent to bring provisions. There wasn’t anything exciting about the job, and it made good money. We were a little disappointed when the rebels lost the war, if only because it cut our contract in half. 

Well, in March of ‘77 there were still ships to be serviced, and we were enroute to meet them. That’s when it happened.” Arnaud stared into his cup pensively.

“The fog was thick that day, and our captain was following all precautions. We were coming close to the rendezvous, and didn’t want to slam into some ship of the line and doom us both. Some lad in the crows nest called out that there was a ship ahead, and nobody thought the wiser because it was a ship we were meeting. By the time we saw the sails it was too late to turn back.

It was a frigate—faster than any I had seen before. It appeared out of the fog like a phantom, dark but for the lettering on the side. She was called the  _ Lexington.  _ Next thing I knew the ship was next to ours, ropes being tossed aboard and men scrambling over like ants. They corralled us onto the main deck and we watched as they plundered the stores. A frigate like that, if they chose right, they could stock for six months at sea. Didn’t matter though, they cleaned out the stores. A year’s worth of food, some of which we could see being loaded onto the gun deck because they had so much. 

They took the food, the rum, all our guns and munitions. Not to mention any coin we had. The whole time I was kneeling on the deck I couldn’t believe what was happening. These men weren’t pirates—they didn’t even look like  _ sailors. _ They stood like soldiers, holding bayonets to us like they’d met us on the battlefield. Their clothes were old and worn, but strikingly similar. Like pieces of a repurposed uniform. And then their captain came aboard.”

By this point Lafayette was trembling, his cup noticeably shaking between his hands, but he could not tear his attention away from Arnaud. Not even as he rolled up a sleeve to show the scarring of a deep burn that ran up his forearm. 

“Whatever sense of honor or mercy Washington had must have been left on the battlefield, for the sea had made a murderer of him. He shot our captain, then made his way through the crew, putting the bayonet to them. I was the last in line, and having already pissed myself twice during the whole ordeal, I broke down into tears. His men had to lift me off the deck to face him, and I don’t even know what words came tumbling from me as I begged for my life. Thank merciful god something worked, because he turned on his heel and left me on the bloody deck. 

He didn’t make it easy, though. As his men crawled back to their ship, and the lines were cut, he tossed a bottle of rum aboard my ship. It shattered to a million pieces, the flaming rag stuffed inside it igniting the deck. I scrambled to abandon ship, burning myself as I crawled into the dingy. I watched the  _ Northam _ sink into the sea, and the  _ Lexington  _ disappear into the fog. Three days later a British ship found me, and returned me to shore.” 

Arnaud trailed off. His story was ghastly and heart wrenching, but before Lafayette could offer his sincere condolences Yves piped up.

“I think that’s enough for tonight, eh?” The three men nodded solemnly. The following few seconds were a haze of scuffing chairs, clinking glasses and half hearted whispers. Arnaud resigned to stay in the galley a bit longer. He had prep work to do for Cook’s breakfast shift. Yves urged Lafayette along, hurrying him away from Arnaud as casually as he could.

“Shouldn’t we comfort the man?” Lafayette whispered, once they were far enough out of earshot. Yves sighed, his hand still urging Lafayette down the corridor towards his cabin.

“Look lad, I’ll tell you this: Arnaud ain’t right in the head. We found him in Nassau two years ago nursing a laudanum habit so great I’m surprised he can still form sentences. I try not to buy into the fever dreams he’s had while on the stuff. And you shouldn’t neither. You’ll get to Bridgetown quickly and unmolested, you have my word.” They stopped outside Lafayette’s cabin, and in a few seconds the keys had been turned and the smell of old forgotten vomit had returned to them. Lafayette lingered in the doorway, still unsettled.

“And the pirates? Washington? Are these not real people who might be out there?” 

Yves shrugged and headed back down the hall, “If you believe in ghost stories, Mr.DuPont.”

* * *

Nassau was a blessed sight. The morning they sighted land it was as though the world sighed. The air was fresh and sweet, the water no longer dark and grey, but unbelievably blue, dappled with turquoise and greens the likes of which Lafayette had never seen. The crew worked without jackets, and Lafayette felt bold enough to don his lighter summer suit as he strolled around the deck. Spirits were high, as this voyage had been a troublesome one, but no longer. Their captain had delivered them to paradise, and with a skilled navigator the reefs would be no obstacle. 

As the island neared Lafayette could spot other ships bobbing in port, their tall masts swaying in the warm summer breeze. It was a swaying Lafayette would soon feel in his legs as they hit dry land, his body not accustomed to the earth laying still beneath his heels. Yves chuckled as Lafayette tripped over his own two feet, nearly flying headfirst into the water as he sprawled out on the dock.

“Kiss the ground hello, Gilbert, she’s missed you.” He joked, helping him up. “The faster you walk, the easier it gets. Come now, let’s have some fun.” 

‘Fun’ to sailors meant a variety of things. It meant a hot meal and a stiff drink, paid for with the coin their captain had doled out before disembarkation. It was several rounds at a local tavern, often on the tab of some drunken man who could no longer count who he was treating. And often, it meant being pulled into brothels, where ample young women would crawl into their laps and leave them penniless before dawn. First night ashore was a free for all, and Lafayette could not help but fully appreciate the custom. The sea was perilous and unpredictable, and their rewards for a safe passage seemed oddly fitting. 

The second day was for work, and by noon all the men had pulled themselves out of  their drunken stupor and back to the docks to resume their duties.

“Someone had fun.” the Captain remarked, watching Lafayette shuffle onboard. “You’re a little young to be running all over town with my men, but I’m glad you made it back in one piece.” 

Lafayette laughed, smoothing over the rumpled front of his shirt bashfully. “I’d like to think I handled it gracefully.” 

“There’s no graceful way to handle a night out.” The captain remarked, watching one of his men empty his stomach over the side. “That’s what makes it fun.”

In truth, everything about this new world was fun. Lafayette had never experienced anything more than rocky coastlines that plunged into a cold, turbulent sea. His childhood visits to the seaside were spent more frightened than frolicking. But here the sea seemed like a tempting, alluring place. From the shore the waves rippled far to the horizon, their dazzling blues sparkling in the sun. The beaches were soft white sand that sifted like sugar between his toes, only to be sucked away by the crash of waves as clear as glass. It was hard to believe it was the same ocean that threatened to wreck their ship twice on the voyage over, but all forces must have their good days. 

The next few days were spent hard at work. The crew unloaded a shipment of goods from France. Some of the trunks were Lafayette’s, coyly brought on board to fulfill his alias as a merchant in desperate need of transport. Although this was not his port, he could do a little business. So while the crew worked on moving teas and fine china, Lafayette spent his days wandering from shop to shop, selling off some of the fine garments he had once used in Versailles. Nothing too suspicious, of course. His suits were all tailored to him, and sadly too obvious to transport; but there were other fineries small enough to smuggle away. Cravats, shirtsleeves with lace cuffs, silk stockings and ribbons. Anything so fine in Versailles would fetch a fortune here, and Lafayette found some eager buyers very quickly. 

By week’s end they had finished their duties, and were restocked for the second leg of their voyage. The crew were in high spirits having made quite a few memories in Nassau. As the tide rolled in and the sails were set Lafayette sighed a breath of relief. He had made it to a new world, and soon he would be in a new home. 

* * *

The journey to Port Royal was estimated at about one week, though with a strong wind they could make the journey in five days. For once the seas were calm, and Lafayette enjoyed strolling around the deck of the ship. Other ships came and went over the horizon, ferrying mail or goods across the Caribbean. This was increasingly true around day three of their journey, when their course took them through the stretch of sea between Cuba and Hispaniola. It was comforting to see these ships pass silently by, skirting around the edge of the world. After weeks on the flat gray Atlantic a little company was welcome. There could never be a crowd at sea. 

That sentiment was lost by day five of their journey. The wind had gone flat on the fourth day, barely moving the sails as they bobbed like a cork in water. By midnight the wind had returned, but they charted no more than twenty miles drifted that day, leaving them catching up on day five. 

But other things came in on the wind. 

Lafayette had not noticed anything awry at first, in fact it felt much the same as the previous few days. He dined in the galley, strolled the ship, and even picked a sunny spot to read his book. Ships were sighted but they often left. The sailor in the crow’s nest barely made a peep. But a little after noon something did cause alarm; slow at first, and then mounting to unfathomable terror. 

“Captain! Ship ahead!”

Lafayette looked up from his book, gazing in the direction the man pointed. There, in the distance, was a ship. It was far at first but it wavered as though off course. It looked very much like a ship in distress. 

“Lower the sail on the mizzenmast. Slow us down.” The captain called. Lafayette watched on curiously as they did so, the ship slowing noticeably to examine the ship. It continued its troubling course, ducking and weaving until it was not far. The crew was on standby, trying to signal the ship in case her crew needed aid. And then...it turned. It turned right for them.

“What in God’s name is going on?” Yves mumbled from the railing. Lafayette rose to his feet, walking to the side of the ship to look at this curious vessel more closely as it headed straight for them.

“Perhaps her crew is distressed and they saw our signal.” Lafayette said. But as they stood there watching the ship come in, with nothing but the strong whipping sound of the wind passing them, Lafayette began to grow anxious. Their mysterious visitor was a lone frigate. She did not fly a flag of any kind, nor did her crew signal back. But by god it was a fast vessel. The fastest Lafayette had ever seen. And as it drew close Lafayette could see the dark sleek body of the frigate was not black, but  _ blue. _

_ “Gilbert—“ _ Lafayette’s arm was seized roughly, and he wrenched around to see Arnaud behind him. His face was drained of color, his eyes fixed on the frigate drawing near. “You must go _. Now.”  _

Lafayette felt his heart miss a beat as ice filled his veins. “Go  _ where _ ? We’re on the sea.” By now the crew was growing suspicious as well, and the captain was anxiously pacing. Arnaud pulled Lafayette away from the rail and pushed him towards the door that lead below deck. 

“To your cabin! Hide, boy! Don’t let them find you!” 

At that moment a crack thundered through the air, the forward mast of the  _ Isadora  _ splintering into a million pieces. Smoke curled from the gun deck of the frigate. She was no longer far, she was within canon range, and her name was  _ Lexington.  _

Bells rang out on the  _ Isadora _ as her crew scrambled to defend themselves as splinters rained down on them. Lines were pulled and the sail on the mizzenmast was raised again. The wind caught instantly, and the  _ Isadora _ moved forward in an attempt to out maneuver the  _ Lexington.  _ Arnaud shoved Lafayette once more, this time sending him slamming into the wood of the door.

“I said  _ GO”  _

The next few moments were a blur as Lafayette scrambled below deck. From the harsh light of noon to the near darkness down below Lafayette’s eyes strained terribly. His hands shook as he held the rails, and he tripped over his feet and down the last few steps. The remaining crew ran the other way, pushing past him like a raging current as the call of “all hands on deck!!” carried through the air. If he knew what he was doing—had a gun or even a saber—-Lafayette would have joined them. But this ship was woefully unarmed, and a letter opener would do little good when the  _ Lexington  _ unloaded her canons. So, following Arnaud’s warning, he fled to his cabin to hide. 

Lafayette slammed the door behind him, briefly considering locking it before realizing that it would only alert the pirates of an extra hidden passenger. Instead, Lafayette used what time he had to make the room look as fruitless as possible. He went through his valise, taking the majority of his gold setting it in the drawer of the writing desk. When they searched the room, it would be the easiest to find. He saved a few coins for himself, tucking them into different pockets so they would not clink and give him away. He also made sure to take off the delicate gold ring he wore and slip it into his mouth, where his tongue moved it between his cheek and teeth. Coins could be lost if he needed to swim, and the ring was worth more than the coin he carried.Next, he took his bag and tossed it into an adjourning crew cabin, tempting the pirates to search elsewhere for fine silks. 

Up above there was shouting, and a second round of cannon fire. The ship shuddered violently, and Lafayette yelped as the floorboards below him jumped beneath his feet. The bastards had fired into the hull. Lafayette had to pray they plundered quickly, or he might drown before he got the chance to escape. With the loss of a sail and the ship taking on water the  _ Isadora  _ slowed down. From the cabin Lafayette could hear the crash of waves breaking on the side of the ship. The  _ Lexington  _ had caught up, and her crew would soon board. 

With little time left to lose Lafayette raced back to his room and took care of one final piece of business. He lit the candle on his writing table and held the flame to his journal. If he were lucky, there would be no writing from the Captain detailing his stay here. And without the journal, or the letter within, this notebook could belong to any of the souls aboard. He watched as his memories curled and died on the page, and once enough of them were claimed he tossed the book into his water basin. It extinguished with a hiss. 

On deck the sound of gunfire had begun, as well as shouting. More feet made their way onto the deck than Lafayette had ever heard before. It was now or never. He must hide. 

Crammed in the corner of the cabin was a loose panel, one that Lafayette had noted upon boarding the ship. Inside was a tight, barely noticeable cubby, and when the panel was closed it looked one with the wall. Lafayette wasted no time crawling inside, thanking god he was slender enough to fit  _ and _ close the door. Once in there he was submerged in darkness, only able to hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears as the battle raged on.

However, there was something intrinsically more frightening about the silence that followed. All at once the gunfire ceased, and Lafayette could hear boots making their way along the corridors of the ship. Crammed in his cubby, Lafayette could not help but wonder about the scene on deck. Were they all slain in battle? Was the crew tied up? Was Arnaud correct, and soon each would be put to death slowly? 

“Check every room.”

“Gladly.”

Lafayette felt his gut clench as the door to his cabin opened and soft shuffling footsteps entered. The pirate rifled through his things, whacking the bed for any lumpy goods stashed beneath the blanket, and checked the desk. The gold was found quickly, and Lafayette could hear it being jingled with appreciation.

“Let’s see Hammy blow his top at this find, eh?” The man joked to himself. 

“There’s clothing in here. Anyone need lace?” Another voice called out. The man in his room called back.

“Bring it straight up. Cap’n will want it.”

Lafayette held his breath, hoping the man would give up and leave. There was nothing more in his room to plunder, and any moment now his guest  _ should _ be leaving. But instead the man lingered, looking around for anything that might be more securely stashed in the room. Lafayette felt his heart stop at the sound of water trickling in the basin. His journal. He hadn’t thrown it out. No matter, it was destroyed. Any man could have done that. And once the pirate found nothing of value between its pages he would about face—

Lafayette let out a yelp as the panel to the cubby was ripped open, bringing him face to face with the barrel of a gun. 

“What have we here?” The man asked. His tone was bright, though obviously menacing. Only when Lafayette was certain he wasn’t being shot on sight did he wrench his gaze from the pistol. The pirate was a stout, beardy man. He wore an old whalers’ coat, and a floppy brimmed hat that sat on dark brown curls. “An’ they say I never find anythin’ good.” The man grabbed Lafayette by the collar, dragging him from the safety of the cubby and out into the cabin.“The Cap’n is gonna want to see you, boy-o.” Lafayette kicked wildly, trying to free himself from the man’s grip as he made for the door. 

“Let me go!” he cried, one hand coming down and striking the man across the face and neck. The next instant that hand was bent behind his back, wrenching his shoulder so painfully Lafayette felt he would pass out. 

“I wouldn’t do that again if I was you. I’m a reasonable man but that shite will change my mind.” He said through gritted teeth. Lafayette slackened in his grasp, allowing the man to freely drag him up the corridor. “Now c’mon! This ship won’t be topside long.” 

Lafayette choked back a sob as the pirate forced him up the stairs, undoubtedly to be robbed and killed. He was pushed out into the light, and the man’s hands left him so that he might tumble face first onto the deck. His shoulder took the brunt of it, only to be wrenched up again and marched to center deck. 

The scene was dismal. A few of his crew mates remained alive, Arnaud and Yves included. Their captain, as well as ranking officers, had not survived. They lay unceremoniously around the ship, crumpled where their life left them. Lafayette was made to kneel alongside the survivors in the now blood slicked deck of the  _ Isadora.  _

“What’s that?”

“Another boy. Found him in the wall. I think the Cap’n will like this one. Where is he?”

“Coming now.”

Lafayette felt tears prick at his eyes. This would be the end of him. In a few moments their captain would arrive, bringing with him all the death and destruction he had heard about. Beside him Arnaud openly wept. He could only imagine the torment he was in knowing he would not survive a second time. They kept their eyes to the deck, even when the steady click of boots approached.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” A voice rumbled. From under his lashes Lafayette spied a pair of boots, nicely polished even for pirates. The man wearing them tapped them impatiently. “Can we all look up a moment? I do hate feeling ignored.”

Lafayette gasped as someone behind him yanked his hair, forcing him to look up at the man before him. He was a tall, broad man—tall enough that Lafayette had to crane his neck back further to take him in from his spot on the deck. He had his hands folded behind his back, and stared down at the captured crew like a disappointed parent. Lafayette struggled to look at him, as the sun perched just over the man’s shoulder, blinding him to all but piercing blue eyes. 

“I am Captain Washington, and these are my associates.” The associates Washington spoke of lingered around the deck, looking very much like what Arnaud had described; young men, possibly soldiers, wearing a mismatched assortment of uniforms and stolen clothing. It was all true—- the infamous General Washington had turned pirate. 

“Some of you may already know who I am, some may not. No matter.” He spoke slowly and clearly, in a way that made Lafayette tremble. “I’d like to thank you all for your kind donation today. It’s not often we catch a ship with both good food  _ and  _ good wares. You’ve made me a happy man. Therefore, this next part will be quick and painless, as a gift from me.” 

From around the deck came the sounds of blades being unsheathed. There were hunting knives and daggers, along with the old bayonets Arnaud had seen years ago. Behind him Lafayette heard the sound of a blade, and then the sick gurgling of a man dying. The same happened on the other side of the deck as well, and once more as the pirates closed in on the kneeling captives. 

Suddenly there was a noise, and Lafayette yelped as his braid was pulled back, his throat exposed as a man raised a knife over him. It was a long, mean looking dagger that glinted in the light, and Lafayette was so froze with terror that he hardly heard the bearded pirate call out.

“Oi! Not that one. That’s what I found.” He said. The pirate paused, looking up at Washington.” Washington sighed.

“And what is it you’ve found this time, Brewster?”

Brewster flashed a toothy grin. “Found ya a new cabin boy” Lafayette blanched.  _ Cabin boy? _ Kidnapped and forced to work on their godforsaken ship? A rough hand came and cupped Lafayette’s chin, tilting his face up for further examination. Lafayette tried not to struggle, painfully aware of the dagger still hovering close by. Instead he looked up to his surveyor— Washington himself. He bent down to inspect him, those blue eyes roving over his features slowly. Lafayette felt his mouth run dry, unable to beg or plead for his life. All he could do was look at the man who would decide his fate.

“He’s much nicer than the tea set.” Washington quipped, releasing Lafayette’s chin to deliver a playful smack to his cheek. “And healthy, too. Good job.” He looked into Lafayette’s eyes, and for a moment Lafayette had never felt more vulnerable. “What’s your name, son?”

“G-Gilbert...DuPont.”

Washington smiled in a crookedly charming way. “Well, then. Why don’t my boys finish up here while we get better acquainted, Mr. DuPont.” Lafayette let out a cry as he was hoisted up and settled roughly over one of Washington’s shoulders, and carried away from the crew of the  _ Isadora. _ On the deck the pirates closed in, daggers in hand. 

“Make it quick, boys. I’m a man of my word.”

Lafayette squeezed his eyes shut before the screaming began.

* * *

The captain’s quarters aboard the  _ Lexington _ were nothing like Lafayette imagined. The thought of pirates conjured up images of filthy living; unwashed bodies, broken bottles, half eaten apples left to rot. What he found instead was quite the opposite. Washington’s cabin was neatly organized, and spotless to the point of military perfection. The messiest thing was his writing desk, with two sheets of paper out of place. 

Lafayette shifted nervously on his feet as Washington took a seat in his chair, looking him over from behind the desk.

“Let this be a brief orientation, Mr. DuPont, I have much to do.” He said, taking the time to right the out of line papers. “On board my ship you are to call me Captain. Your post is cabin boy, though your duties will be much more than just attending to the cabins. You will be expected to launder clothes, swab the deck, and be at the disposal of the senior ranking crew—which in your case is everyone here. If there is a task they request, one you do not know, you will  _ learn. _ Am I clear?” Lafayette nodded his head silently.Washington did not appreciate his silence. “I said, _ am I clear?” _

“ _ Yes, Captain.” _ Lafayette whispered. Washington only stared at him, his eyes set on his lips as if discovering a secret. He pushed out from his desk, striding over to Lafayette so that he towered over him, and offered him an upturned palm.

“Spit it out.” Lafayette cowered, and Washington curled his fingers as if to beckon him to obey. “Come on now. Spit out what’s in your mouth, boy.” Caught in his scheme Lafayette complied, dislodging the ring from inside his cheek and parting his lips so that it may slip off his tongue and into Washington’s palm. The man chuckled.

“It’s a very fine ring. I’ll hold onto it for you.” Washington returned to his desk, leaning far back into his chair. “Your first duty will be assisting Knox in the bilge, which needs caulking. So you’ll need to strip down.”

Lafayette felt his breath catch in his chest. “Pardon, Captain?” He asked. His voice came out quiet as a mouse, but Washington still heard. 

“Strip down. Your suit is much too fine for your new duties. Not to worry, I have spare clothing for you to use—despite how tiny you are.” Washington opened a trunk beside him, pulling out a worn pair of breeches and some shirtsleeves. Lafayette fidgeted nervously.

“May I...may I have some privacy?” 

Washington lay the clothes on his desk. “I think not. Normally I’d explain that I must be here in the unlikely event that you’ve smuggled goods under your clothes.” He held up the confiscated ring. “But seeing as you  _ were  _ hiding this, I must insist you change right here.” 

Lafayette’s heart hammered in his chest, his cheeks reddening. Across the room Washington waited, his legs crossed neatly as though he did not just ask him to bare himself to the world. “The quicker it happens the happier we’ll both be, Mr. DuPont.” He was right. There was no use prolonging it, nor were there any bloodless alternatives. Lafayette swallowed thick and began to undo his cravat.

Tears threatened to spring to his eyes again, but Lafayette pushed past them, throwing his cravat in what he hoped would be defiance—though the thing fluttered to the ground silently. He slipped off his shoes while unbuttoning his jacket. Washington spoke up. 

“Shake out your clothes as you do so.”

Lafayette compiled, shaking the brown jacket vigorously. The hidden coins flew out and hit the floor noisily, and Washington’s eyes lit up with amusement. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Hiding more, are we?” Lafayette did not respond, but pushed forward with his undressing. 

The waistcoat came off, and with a deep breath Lafayette pulled his shirtsleeves up over his shoulders, exposing his pale smooth skin to Washington. It was quite drafty in the cabin, and Lafayette wished this ordeal would be over with. Just one more article of clothing and he would be exposed. His fingers fumbled with his breeches, and he pushed them down in one swift motion before stepping out of them. He then straightened up, hands covering his shame as he stood before Washington in nothing but his stockings. Washington’s eyes roved over his body, drinking in every detail before speaking.

“I said everything, Mr. DuPont. Shake out your stockings.” 

Lafayette’s whole body trembled as he bent down to undo the ribbons holding his stockings up. They pooled around his ankles, and he shook them out to prove he had nothing more to hide. There was nothing  _ left _ to hide, even as he stood knobby kneed with his hands cupping himself. Across the room Washington chuckled, taking one last good look at him before tossing over his clothes. Lafayette briefly moved his hands to catch, and then pressed the bunched up fabric to himself desperately. Washington rose from his chair, slipping the ring onto his finger. It barely made it to the first knuckle of his pinky, but he held his hand up to admire it.

“No time to dawdle, Mr. DuPont. Your duties start now. Dressed or not, you’re expected in the bilge in five minutes.” He opened the door to the cabin, and Lafayette scrambled into his breeches before anyone else could see his nakedness. Washington looked on with a smile. 

“And if I haven’t said so already— welcome aboard.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The bilge was just as unpleasant as it sounded. It resided on the lowest deck of the ship, so low that it sat below the water line. The smell of it was overwhelming, and as Lafayette made his way down he couldn’t help but gag at it. It’s putrid; stagnant salt water mixed with wood, filth, and pitch. It was the nitty gritty of the ship, something Lafayette never saw himself wading ankle deep in. 

“Over here, boy!” A voice called out. In the darkness of the ship Lafayette could make out a light, and he stumbled his way toward it. The water sloshed around his ankles noisily, churning up some horrid layer of sludge from the floor that unleashed a new wave of smells that threatened to bring up Lafayette’s lunch. It would be the least traumatic thing to happen to him that day. In the darkness the voice urged him forward. “Hurry up now, lad. And don’t drag your feet. You’ll only make it worse.” 

As Lafayette drew near he could make out the shape of a man; a fairly large one. He sat crouched on a stool, his worn breeches soaked to the knee as he fiddled with something in his hands. His features flickered in the light of a torch, and Lafayette had to squint to get a better look at him. He was heavy set, but almost in an inviting jovial way, not at all as looming or threatening as Washington had been. It was only when Lafayette was within arms reach that he could see the man had two missing fingers on one hand.

“You can call me Knox.” the man said. “And you can tell me yours if you want, or I can just yell for the cabin boy. Either way you’ll be hearing it a lot.” Lafayette wrung his hands nervously, trying to find his voice.

“My name is Gilbert.” He said meekly. Knox hummed to himself. In his hands there was a bucket filled with a thick dark liquid. He stirred it pensively with a rod. 

“Do you know what this is?” Knox asked. He lifted the rod from the bucket, letting the thick viscous liquid drip off the end and back into the bucket. Lafayette felt his throat run dry.

“ _ Pitch”  _

Knox snapped his fingers, indicating it was the right answer. “That’s right. And it’s our job to make sure it seals the hull up tight. We hit a few storms on the way down, no doubt your ship would’ve caught a bit of that.” He tapped his foot on the floor, sending the ankle deep water bubbling. “This is too much bilge water for Captain’s liking. I’m sure you’d like to stay on his good side yes?” Lafayette nodded. He was then handed a pair of worn leather work gloves, and a slanted metal funnel.

“Get to work, you’ve got a devil to pay.” 

The process of caulking was one Lafayette had not known of outside his education. He knew the word, seen it in books, but had never given it much thought. But now, as he knelt in the front water of  the bilge, it became its own harsh lesson. Caulking consisted of two parts; the actual physical caulk material and the seal. Knox handed the physical, being a stronger and more experienced man. A few yards ahead Knox made his way along the seam of the hull, using a mallet and chisel to gently tap a length of oakum between the planks of wood until it wedges tightly. Lafayette followed his lead, funnel in hand, dragging a thick line of pitch behind him. It was a thick, heavy liquid that filled the seam of the hull, making Lafayette’s arms ache as he held the funnel steady.

The pitch itself was messy, and Lafayette made the poor mistake of fumbling as he tried to refill his funnel. It slipped from his inexperienced hands, and in trying to catch it he felt the sharp burn of hot pitch through his shirt. He cried out loudly, letting the funnel drop into the bilge water with a hiss. Knox turned around sharply, catching Lafayette as he clutched his arm to his chest.

“Stop! Show me.” He demanded, barreling over so suddenly that Lafayette felt backwards into the water. In an instant he was hoisted back onto his feet, and the older man was inspecting his arm. The thin shirt was smudged with pitch, forming a dark sticky stain on Lafayette’s forearm. It stung awfully at first, but as Knox shoved his sleeve up to the elbow he could see his skin was thankfully unmarred, only bright pink with heat. Knox sighed and let Lafayette’s arm go, turning his attention away to fish the funnel out of the inky black water.

“Smarts, don’t it.” Knox said. “Keep the funnel half full. Less to roll back and burn you. And believe me I’ve seen what that tar can do a man. You do it again and I’ll be sending Greene down from the galley with some feathers.” Lafayette rolled his sleeve back down and mumbled a soft apology.

“Don’t apologize. Just work smart. You got lucky Captain wasn’t here to see that. On deck you might not be so lucky.” With that Knox waved Lafayette away, silently sending him to return to his work. He did as he was told, taking the advice to heart and only filling the funnel halfway. It was noticeably easier to maneuver, and Lafayette could fill the seams twice as fast, despite having to stop frequently to refill.

The work was mindless, and it happened without conversation, but Lafayette was at peace with it. He did not want to know Knox—as kind as he had been to him. He didn’t want to know anyone. These men—his new crew—were not family to him as they were to each other. He was not eager to trade stories with them as he once was aboard the Isadora. He was their crew in name only. A prisoner aboard a pirate ship, doomed to scrub and wait on his captors until his untimely death. Which, by the way everyone acted, would be any day. 

How much time passed Lafayette couldn’t tell. In the dark of the bilge, with no portholes, it could have been hours. The only measure of time was the candle burning, now a sizable chunk shorter than when he had begun his work. Shuffling back to the bucket of pitch, Lafayette heard the distant sound of a bell ringing up above, and within a few minutes a man opened the hatch to the bilge.

“Knox! Cabin boy’s needed at the galley. Officer’s dinner in ten.” 

The hatch door slammed shut, immersing them in darkness once more. Knox rose to his feet, his joints popping noisily. “That’s my cue.” He groaned. Lafayette watched him shuffle to the hatch. “Don’t dawdle, boy. We both need to get scrubbed up. Keep those hands steady at dinner.” 

Ten minutes was an awfully short time to get ready for dinner service, sending Lafayette into a full blown panic as he scrambled out of the bilge. His clothes were soaked in filth, and he reeked of bilge water. Knox pointed down a hallway lined with doors. “General crew sleeps down here. Last door. Hurry.” Oh, he did. Lafayette ran down the hall, nearly tripping over his own two feet several times on the way. He slammed against the wood of the door, using the force of his slight frame to throw it open. 

Inside was a large room, though it was cramped by the amount of bodies there. Hammocks hung from hooks all around, some occupied by sleeping men, while others milled around. They turned at the sound of the door, amused by the scene Lafayette had caused.

“Cabin boy! What’s your hurry?” One shouted. 

“Officer’s dinner in ten.” Another laughed. “Washington’s gonna lash you good if he smells the bilge on you.” 

Lafayette looked around the room frantically, unsure where or how to make himself presentable. A flash of movement caught his eye, and Lafayette could see the bearded whaler man from before—the one who found him. The one they called Brewster. He was waving a clean shirt and breeches, a wide smile on his face. 

“Oi! Over here, boy-o.” 

Lafayette rushed over, though his hand itched to strike the man across the face. Had he not pried him from the wall he would have escaped. Half drowned, perhaps, but not sentenced to life as a bilge rat on a floating prison. He reached for the clothes, but the Brewster jerked them away.

“You’ll dirty these. Your hands are covered in grime.” He said. Lafayette felt his heart lodge in his throat. 

“Then please direct me to the tub so I may get ready.” 

“Tub? This ain’t a manor, boy-o. It’s a ship. You wash up like the rest of us.” Brewster said, motioning to the corner. There sat a fairly large basin of water, not particularly clean but not so dirty that it would be unusable for a bath. Lafayette felt his cheeks heat up as he stared at it, so out in the open. Brewster clapped a hand on his shoulder. “By my count you’ve got seven minutes. Captain gives twelve lashes for lateness.” 

Lafayette scurried to the corner, kicking his shoes off for the second time that day as he prepared to bare himself in public. He faced the corner so as not to see the eyes settling on him, though Washington’s raced through his mind as he stripped down. The crew seemed particularly interested in him, hollering as he dropped his breeches and stepped into the tub to scrub himself frantically. The water was chilly and the rag he found at the bottom of it tattered and old, but it did the job. Lafayette scrubbed his skin pink, desperate to get the smell of filth off him. When he could no longer squeeze grayish water from the rag he hopped back out, accepting the clothes Caleb tossed to him quickly.

“Four minutes. Get dressed and head up to the galley. And pull that hair back. Captain won’t want any stray hairs in his food.” 

Lafayette nodded, fixing up his shirt and breeches as best he could before slipping on the dry shoes Caleb laid out and bolting for the door. The galley was only a deck above, and he could smell the rich scent of food wafting down the halls. Something meaty and mouth watering that made Lafayette’s stomach growl. He scrambled up the ladder, following the scent of food until he came across the open door of the galley, and the man inside.

“You must be the cabin boy. You’re cutting it pretty close.” He said. The man was hunched over a roast, sawing away at it with a large serrated knife. Lafayette dabbed his mouth to wipe away the drool as a thick slice of meat fell neatly onto the plate. There were several plates set out, filled with sides and breads. The meat was transferred to a platter with other neatly cut slices, ready to be served.

“You’re serving, cabin boy.” The man said. “And if anyone complains about the roast you tell them Greene is saving the good stuff for later.” Lafayette nodded quickly, heaving the platter onto his tiny shoulder. It was hot to the touch, so much so that Lafayette quickened his pace as he headed toward the direction Greene pointed him in. The officer’s dining room.

The room itself was quite large. Big enough for a long table lined with chairs, each filled with various officers aboard the Lexington. Unlike the majority of the crew these men had complete uniforms, though Lafayette suspected they were only used for dinner, where they could remind Washington of his glory days as a general. Blue coats, some with buff facings or white ones, some with tassel shoulders or medals around the neck, each indicating rank or statehood—as Lafayette had read once a long time ago. Everyone clean shaven and to military perfection. Even Knox, who had been in the bilge with him not ten minutes prior, was at the table looking his best. At the head of the table was Washington, sporting a stern look.

“You’re two minutes late, Mr. DuPont.” 

Lafayette squirmed uneasily at his false name, feeling just as naked as he had in Washington’s office. He shifted the platter of meat on his shoulder.

“My apologies, Captain. I will not let it happen again.” He said, setting the platter between two young officers. They were not much older than he was, and they smiled knowingly to themselves at the sight of him. Washington strummed the table with his fingers.

“I should hope not. Now back to the kitchen with you. Help Greene out with the rest of the platters so that he may join us” Washington said, gesturing to the empty seat at the center of the table. “Then grab the wine pitcher to serve. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir”

He worked double speed, setting each plate from the kitchen before the officers at the table with instruction from Greene. Washington was served first, and Lafayette was glad to occupy his lingering gaze as quickly as possible. Officer Hamilton was next, as he was first mate on the Lexington. Next came Knox, who Lafayette surmised was in charge of artillery and ship upkeep by the sounds of his conversation. After that came Officer Tallmadge, who was in charge of “navigation”. The term was applied loosely, as it seemed Tallmadge not only picked the safest route for travel, but the most profitable. The Isadora, it seemed, had been cased before her sinking whilst in the port of Nassau. Lafayette caught Tallmadge’s gaze while placing down his plate, and for a half second found himself remembering the same dazzling blue eyes at the tavern he was drunkenly celebrating in. 

Greene was served last, as he needed to exit the kitchen and settle into his seat. He was the only officer not in uniform, still wearing his grease splattered vest and shirtsleeves. It seemed that this meal was only a short break from his duties, and that upon clearing up he would be back in the kitchen preparing dinner for the lower crew. Once the table was full of food Lafayette rushed to grab the pitcher, fearing what would come if a glass were to run dry. 

Dinner was jovial, by all aspects. The plundering of the Isadora brought a bounty to the pirates. Food, drink, coin, along with all the fine treasures Lafayette had hoped to sell in Port Royal upon his arrival. Until now the weight of his reality had not set in, but now as he stood in the corner of the dining hall, pitcher in hand as the sun slipped below the far horizon, Lafayette felt all hope leave him. This was not some nightmare he would wake from. This was his new life. The patriot and friend he planned to meet in Port Royal would know of the Isadora’s doom once she did not reach port. Whether sunk by storm or by pirates it did not matter. Lafayette got what he wanted in a roundabout way—-he got to disappear. Now he must commit to the end of his old life. 

“Cabin boy!” 

Lafayette snapped from his daze, almost tipping the pitcher over as he did so. The sharp command had come from Hamilton, who was tapping the edge of his glass impatiently. “I don’t know why you let men like Brewster pick the captives, Captain.” Hamilton said wryly. Lafayette rushed to fill his glass with shaking hands. “This one is daydreaming at supper.”

Washington rolled his eyes and set out his own glass for refilling. Once Hamilton’s glass was practically overflowing with wine Lafayette moved on to Washington’s. The tremors in his hands worsened as fear gripped him, and Lafayette could see his own demise as the red liquid from the pitcher fell into the glass. One drop. One spill on the table cloth or the neat white shirt of Washington’s uniform, and his life would be extinguished. His shaking was apparently obvious, as Washington raised his hand to gently cup the curved bottom of the pitcher, guiding it steady as Lafayette poured.

“Come now, the poor boy has had quite the day. He’s one of us now—not a captive. He’s just a little jittery trying to find his place in his new home.” Washington turned his gaze up to Lafayette, his thumb moving from the pitcher to brush the soft skin of Lafayette’s fingers around the handle. “Isn’t that right, Mr.DuPont?” Lafayette felt his mouth run dry, unable to wrench his gaze away from Washington’s steely blue eyes once again. His cheeks flushed terribly.

“Y-yes, sir. I’m just finding my place.” 

“Good lad.” Washington said, giving Lafayette’s hand a brisk tap. “Back to your work.” Lafayette stepped back, glad to retreat into the shadows of the hall where no one could see him tremble. There he remained, darting out only to refill a glass here and there. The officers made it easy for him by tapping the rim of their cups with gentle fingertips whenever they were low. None made a passing comment or snide remark, and the air of indifference brought relief to Lafayette. 

The end of the meal was signaled not by Washington but by Greene. Wearily, he pushed out his chair, laying his napkin over his now clean plate. 

“Can’t keep the boys waiting forever. Plundering day means a big meal.” Greene chuckled. Washington tapped the rim of his glass, and Lafayette scrambled to fill it once more.

“Excellent meal. Don’t forget to take the boy with you. We can pour our own night caps.” He said, taking the jug from Lafayette. Lafayette shivered as his skin came into contact with the rough pads of Washington’s fingers, calloused from working the ship. It surprised Lafayette— to say the least— that Washington worked the ship at all. Not with the pristine way he presented himself. In an instant it was over, and Washington’s attention was back on the conversation between Tallmadge and Hamilton. Greene threw a nod to Lafayette, signaling him to follow back into the kitchen.

“Good lad.” Greene said, wiping his hands on the front of his breeches. “See? Nothing to worry about. Lower crew isn’t as picky. We just need to take down the platters.” 

The platters in question were piled high with shredded meat, along with bowls filled with the drippings. It was accompanied by bread, as well as some hastily roasted vegetables, all piping hot on large plates. Greene heaved one up and rested it on his shoulder. He then bent at the knees and took up a second.

“Today’s supper is special due to the plunder. Every man gets two scoops meat, two pieces of bread, a scoop of either the potatoes or beans, and afterward we’ll hand out one square of chocolate per man.  _ Do not _ let them talk you into more. They’ll eat you out of house and home, turn around, and ask why there’s no food.” Greene huffed. Lafayette took the platter of bread, too frightened to lift up the second meat platter or its gravy. “And don’t let them scare you. If they think they can twist your arm for some sugar they’ll do it. You’re a small one but chin up.” 

Lafayette mumbled a quick  _ yes sir _ and followed Greene to the dining hall for the lower crew. His knees went weak at the thunderous sound of voices, and it took all his might not to lose the bread platter due to slippery palms. These were the men he feared the most. The ones who dragged him up from his hiding spot and jeered at him. The same men who put bayonets to the throats of good sailors, now waiting for him to serve them with a smile. At the end of the night Washington was tucked away in his private quarters, but Lafayette would sleep among these men, and hope no one killed him for a passing error. 

“Oi! Cabin boy!” The first voice he heard belonged to the man called Brewster, who by this time Lafayette had had enough of. Greene set the platters down, and motioned to a stack of scratched tin plates. 

“Brewster will start the line. Get to serving. Just like we said.” 

Lafayette got to work, and the men fell in line quickly. They talked and joked, but the line queues up fast, and Lafayette could see the remnants of their army life in the way they waited for their rations. Caleb took a plate from the stack and held it out. 

“I’ll take the potatoes.” He said cheerfully. Lafayette nodded, scooping potatoes onto the plate alongside the heap of shredded meat and bread. “And a lil gravy if you don’t mind.” From down the table Greene huffed.

“Do not let this one have gravy.”

“But I’m first in line, Natty.”

“Next you’ll want a third piece of bread to mop it up. Eat what’s on your plate, Brewster.” 

Brewster threw a wink to Lafayette and picked up his plate. “Worth a shot, eh, cabin boy? He’s too smart for me.” Lafayette smiled weakly and waited for the next in line. The men behaved surprisingly well, most likely satisfied with the hearty feast portions they were promised. Each presented their plate and stated what they wanted, then moved on with a small nod. Greene worked on the far end of the table, where he would pour out ale for the men to drink. It was here that the men pushed their boundaries.

“No rum tonight?”

“Not tonight.” Greene said. “But ale is fine.”

One man clicked his tongue. “I remember loading a good deal of rum casks aboard. Not one of them made it down here?” Greene set the pewter mug down sharply.

“The rum is used to cook and to barter for other necessities. Not even the officers have opened a cask. If you have an issue with the ale I have so graciously poured you, take it up with Captain.” Greene snapped. The man took his cup, muttering an apology. The next few men took their cups in silence. 

As the first sitting was winding down Greene passed out chocolate, and each man took their piece before the bells rang above deck to signal a change of duty. The platters were switched to fresh ones and the second half of the crew filtered down to enjoy their meal. Lafayette began to get antsy, his stomach grumbling the longer he served. As the plates began to empty Lafayette had the sinking feeling he was going to receive scraps for dinner, and the thought of it made him sick with hunger.

“Hey boy, what’s the idea.” one man snapped. Lafayette looked up, confused. The man gestured to his plate. “This is barely a scoop of meat. I’ve seen people get three times this.”

Greene glanced over. “You’ve got your share. The boy’s given you two scoops.” The man remained in front of Lafayette, not dissuaded by Greene’s biting tone. 

“No, I know where my share went. Wasted on another bloody mouth we don’t need. He might as well be stealing...and we know what Captain does to thieves on this ship—“

“That’s enough, Bradford, the boy hasn’t eaten your share. Next time queue up faster and don’t get picky with what you’re given.” 

Lafayette squirmed uncomfortably, and Bradford took this as an opportunity to send his message home. Lafayette cried out as Bradford seized the front of his shirt, pulling him forward so that he leaned across the serving table. With his free hand he took a piece of bread and mopped it through the gravy on his plate.

“He hasn’t eaten? Well then let’s fix that.” He sneered, taking the bread and smearing it across Lafayette’s face. This earned a good laugh, and Lafayette squirmed desperately to escape as Bradford tried to shove the soggy bread into his mouth.

The next thing he heard was a cry, and the hand on his shirt went slack, sending him hurtling to the ground. Above him Bradford was struck, holding a sore spot on his cheek as a man threw punches wildly. Around the dining hall the men cheered on the fight. 

“Brewster!”

“Get that prick!”

From the floor Lafayette could see Brewster on top of Bradford, smacking away his hands no differently than two schoolboys would fight. In the scuffle Lafayette was forced to scoot back, feeling splinters catch his breeches as he avoided being pulled in as well.

“ **That is enough!”**

An unmistakable voice cut through the row, and the room fell silent. Brewster dropped his fists, though he still pinned a now bloodied Bradford to the floor. At the entrance of the mess hall was Washington, his face twisted in anger.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Caleb gestured loosely to Bradford. “Billy here had problems with his dinner. Blamed the cabin boy for takin’ his share.” Washington turned his attention to the spot on the floor where Lafayette lay sprawled. The front of his shirt was covered in grease and soggy bread, as was his face. Beneath him lay the almost empty platter of meat, wasted when Bradford sent him to the floor. “He got rough with him an’ I stepped in. The boy’s crew, an’ it ain’t right to smack him around like that, sir.” 

Washington’s gaze remained on Lafayette, silently surveying the damage done to him. The attention was enough to bring tears to Lafayette’s eyes, and he felt them roll down his cheeks hotly as he endured the mixed looks of pity and anger from the crew. Finally, Washington spoke.

“Mr. DuPont is indeed a member of this crew. And with the supplies from his ship there is plenty to feed you all.” His eyes dropped to the overturned plate of meat beneath Lafayette.“However, I  _ cannot  _ tolerate this waste. Take Bradford down to the brig. Ten lashes, one for each of the men he’s denied a supper to. Brewster, three for abandoning your post, and then back to work. Mr.DuPont, clean yourself up and finish your duties.” 

Greene helped Lafayette to his feet, while two other men collected Bradford and Brewster from the floor.  The dining hall returned to its conversation as Washington left, and a breath of relief filled the room. 

“Alright boys, since Bradford knocked over the last of the meat we’ve got two options. Extra eggs in the morning, or some broth and extra chocolate tonight.” Greene announced. “And two fingers of rum for each man who cleans this mess up.” 

The men scrambled to and fro, using napkins and rags to sop up the mess. Mops were brought out, and soapy water dragged across the greasy stain in the wood. Lafayette ran to the kitchen with Greene, fetching a heated pot of broth and tossing in some already soft boiled vegetables from another stock. Greene tucked a cask of rum beneath his arm and marched back, pleased to see the hall cleaner than it was at the beginning of dinner service.

“Alright then. Line up with your cups.” 

Order had been restored, and the men gladly accepted their rum and chocolate, and filtered back down to their posts. Once the last man was served Greene led Lafayette back to the kitchen. His heart had not stopped pounding since Bradford seized his shirt, and the whole world seemed to sway as he sat at the wood prep table. A small bowl of broth was placed on the table in front of him, mixed well with meat scraps and vegetables. A slice of bread, chocolate, and ale were set down too. Lafayette couldn’t restrain himself much longer, and dug into his meager meal. 

“You’d have had a real meal if Bradford didn’t spill it. Don’t think on it too much. Captain isn’t mad with you. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.” Greene retrieved a flask from under the table and filled it with rum. “Though if I were you I’d give this to Brewster. He took three lashes for you today.” Greene slid the flask across the table. “And saved you from the blade.”

Lafayette’s hand slowed above his near empty bowl, his eyes set on the flask. “I know…” he whispered. Greene sighed and took the bowl from him.

“Go on now. You’re officially relieved of duty. Take your bread and chocolate with you, and get some sleep.” 

Lafayette didn’t need to be told twice. He gathered the goods, making sure to slip the flask into the big billowy pocket of his apron as he skidded out of the kitchen. He would give the flask to Brewster, though the sting of a few lashes felt justified when compared to the life of servitude he would be forced to endure aboard the Lexington. But, if it would buy him some peace of mind on the ship, it was worth it. Especially when Lafayette found himself turned around in the dark. Now almost midnight, the only light came from sparse lanterns lit next to the ladders and hatches. The rest of the corridors were long, narrow, and impossibly dark. 

No matter how hard Lafayette wracked his brain he could not remember which way the sleeping quarters were. He turned a few corners hoping to find a familiar pattern of doors, but none came to him. The ones he did find belonged to lower officers...he could tell by the smell of soap and perfume that wafted from under the door. By this point the chocolate in his hand was melting, and he tried his best to eat it as he wandered the hallway in pitch blackness. It was bittersweet, and made his already anxious stomach churn. Lafayette quickened his pace, panic beginning to set in as he passed the dying flame of another lantern, so turned around that he could have sworn he had been here and never been here at once. Frantically, Lafayette rounded another corner, and slammed into something—someone— quite solid with a loud cry. 

“ _ Mr. DuPont.” _

Lafayette froze, his whole body seized with terror in the darkness as he realized he had slammed full force into Captain Washington. Through the darkness the low rumble of his voice was electrifying, like a wolf watching from the shadows. It made Lafayette shrink and backup, rounding the corner once more so that he was back within the soft halo of light from the candle. And Washington followed. He stepped into the light slowly, his broad frame practically filling the narrow confines of the corridor. Though Lafayette had rammed into him, Washington looked unruffled. He looked down at Lafayette curiously, a hint of something playful and amusing behind his steely blue eyes. He raised a hand to cup Lafayette’s face, and rubbed roughly at a spot on his cheek with his thumb. 

“Gotten into the chocolate, have we?” He chuckled. 

Lafayette shifted on his heels, a strange mix of anxiety and bashfulness churning in his gut. Had this been another man...perhaps a man at court...Lafayette would have been quite smitten with the gentle way he was caressed. But with Washington there was an edge. One Lafayette felt was carefully crafted to keep a surly crew in line. Washington’s hand dropped to the apron slung around Lafayette’s waist, fishing out the flask of rum.

“And the rum as well.” He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, then offered it up to Lafayette. “Go on.” 

Lafayette raised the flask to his lips, tipping it back for the tiniest sip. As the lowest member of the crew he dared not take more than what he felt he should; not after Bradford’s fight. As he went to lower the flask Washington clicked his tongue, gently nudging it so it tipped back to Lafayette’s lips. Lafayette drank deeply, relishing the comforting warmth the rum granted him. It pooled in his gut, and dribbled down his chin and neck as Washington granted him a taste. After a long moment it was over, and the flask was returned to Lafayette’s pocket.

“Give the rest to Brewster.” Washington said. His voice was calm and even, almost paternal. With little effort he took Lafayette by his shoulders, gently turning him so he faced away from Washington and the candle. “Straight this way. Last door.” 

“ _ Yes sir. Thank you.” _ Lafayette said, glancing over his shoulder to look at his captor turned captain once more. Washington returned his gaze with a gentle push in the right direction, and slipped back around the corner into the darkness of the  _ Lexington _ . 

“Good boy, Gilbert.” 

And with that he was gone, leaving Lafayette to walk briskly through the darkness, clutching the half empty flask to his side as he tried to explain away the curious heat in his gut. 

It was rum.  _ Rum.  _ Only rum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a three part series, but more ideas stretched the plot so I'm expecting 4 chapters at least! If you liked this story please leave a comment and come visit me on tumblr @grumblebee-trilogy or on twitter @bifrostbite. Also take a good look at some of the Pirate Washington art that @oohlalafayette on twitter has created, she is an amazing artist! 
> 
> Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn the next day proved to be simpler. Lafayette rose before the sun with a little nudge from Caleb, who undoubtedly spent the night sipping whiskey to distract from the tender lash marks crossing his back. In the kitchen Lafayette whisked eggs, plated meats, and heated water for tea as Greene rambled through the morning’s schedule.

“Officer’s breakfast goes up with the sun. Washington takes it very promptly. You must brew the tea strong, but not too strong it turns bitter. There’s cream as well, be sure to bring enough up. I’ve toasted some bread, and there’s some pastries to be taken in as well.” Lafayette recognized the pastries as some from the ill fated  _ Isadora,  _ and it made his stomach turn.

_ “I will, sir.”  _

Lafayette added the tea leaves to the pot, waiting patiently for it to steep to a rich reddish brown before placing it on the service tray. He may not have many practical skills, but he knew how to make a good strong cup. He lifted the tray an inch or so to test the weight, then piled the rest of the tray high with toast, pastries, jams, and butters. 

“I will bring in the first course.” He told Greene, who gave him a little grunt of approval before he slipped out the door. The quicker food was placed out, the quicker Greene could sit and eat; something Lafayette was keen on doing. Greene was a friendlier face at the table,and  along with Knox the two offset the rigid, frightening aura Washington gave off. If Washington was not a morning person, Lafayette would need every friendly face he could get. 

As predicted, all of the officers except Greene were already seated. Their uniforms were pressed and clean, and they looked freshly washed. Candles flickered on the table, as the sun had not yet broken the horizon. There was the promise of it, though, in the form of a thin rosy band that hugged the edge of the world. 

Lafayette ignored the eyes that set upon him as he approached the table. 

“I heard you made quite the impression at dinner” Hamilton said, breaking the silence with a comment Lafayette could have done without. His cheeks burned at the memory of the brawl with Bradford, the lashing Caleb received for aiding him, and the...run in...with Washington in the corridor. Lafayette set the pastries down on the table lightly, nudging them towards Knox. 

“I hope to make a better one tonight, sir.” Lafayette said apologetically. Next to Hamilton, Washington tapped the brim of his teacup, and Lafayette set to work. 

“Now, now. One night of rough sailing is enough. Mr. DuPont is _keenly_ _aware_ of the type of service he is to provide aboard ship. And thanks to the _Isadora_ we have a lovely new blend of tea.” He said, watching carefully as Lafayette poured a cup. God and every angel in heaven must have worked to steady his hand, for Lafayette did not spill a single drop, or need Washington’s hand to guide the pour as he had the night prior. 

Tallmadge hummed, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Let it be a strong blend.” He pleaded quietly. Hamilton huffed to himself. 

“Up all night with your charts? We’ve already made a major score.” 

Lafayette made his way around the table, trying to push aside the chill of knowing it was Tallmadge who marked his ship. What poor crew would be next? 

“A major score, yes. But we may need to go further south to avoid detection. If we linger too long people will start to notice that Washington’s army is not as disbanded as believed to be—-“ 

The conversation was interrupted by the smell of meat, and the heavy cream of the door as Greene made his way through the narrow frame. 

“I miss anything important?” Greene asked. He set the tray down before pulling his own seat out. Lafayette took to the task of serving. Hamilton waved off the question, staring into his plate as Lafayette piled it high with eggs.

“Benjamin is worried about us being  _ detected.  _ I say we’re doing fine business. No one lives, the ones we spare come work for us. The sea is a dangerous, stormy place.” 

“Except one day we’ll snag a top of the line ship, and the merchants at her port will note that none of the other ships on her route reported storms. We need to continue to skirt unfavorable weather as our cover.” Tallmadge said, his cheeks becoming redder with anger. 

Washington set his cup down sharply, silencing the two. 

“ _ That’s enough. _ ” 

There was a bite to it that made Lafayette flinch noticeably. Two words and the whole room was at his command. No one dared move or speak a word. They only sat quietly, their eyes cast to the table.

“Alexander, you are too confident.” Washington said. His voice was remarkably low, but it carried weight to it. “It is of the utmost importance that this army—this  _ ship—- _ remain a secret. We have lost too much already. Would you lose the men on this ship too?” Hamilton squirmed in his seat like a scolded child. 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. Then we shall continue with the route Benjamin has planned out.” Washington said. He beckoned Lafayette over with a wave, and Lafayette found himself stepping up without hesitation. “But just to sate my curiosity...what did you know of this ship before your capture, Mr. DuPont?” Lafayette’s mouth went dry as he tried to find  a delicate way to put it.

“I knew of your...failed revolution—as told by those in France. That you took your closest men and fled to the sea. After that you were never to be seen again.” Lafayette said quietly. He ought of have ended it there, but the way Washington stared...it was as if he already knew the truth. He just wanted to hear it out loud. Lafayette dared not take that from him.

“But...not to everyone. You’re a  _ ghost story.  _ Something frightful the old sailors tell new lads aboard ship to keep them up at night.”

Something about that amused Washington. It made his eye glimmer, and the corners of his mouth turn up subtly. 

“And what of the old sailor who scared you at night?”

Lafayette felt his breath catch in his chest.

“Killed by your hand aboard the  _ Isadora.” _

Seemingly satisfied with the answer Washington turned to his plate, and in an instant it was as if the room returned to life. There was a great exhale of relief, and Greene cleared his throat loudly.

“Well then. Dig in.”

* * *

There was something rhythmic about life aboard the  _ Lexington _ . Every soul had their purpose; a station for every hour of the day, a duty for every minute. The crew meshed like cogs in a clock, and Lafayette found himself flitting forward as its second hand. Wherever extra hands were needed, his were offered. 

In the mornings he assisted Greene in the galley, preparing and serving breakfast for the officers so that Greene could have more than a moment's rest before serving the lower crew. Early afternoons Lafayette went below deck, trading the harsh sun for the darkness of the bilge, where he caulked the ever creaking seams of the ship. Then it was time to scrub up the decks, wash the windows, and empty the chamber pots. It wasn’t pretty work, but it urged Lafayette to work hard and fast.

He traded ugly chores for more social ones in the evening, scrubbing himself down to be presentable for the officer’s supper, and then the two rounds of lower crew dining. And, as promised, his day ended with a well deserved meal placed out for him by Greene. Unlike his first night, the portions were fairly large. “Hearty meals for hearty work” Greene would say, placing the meal of the day down in front of Lafayette before cleaning up the scraps from the galley floor. 

The strangest thing about it was that time passed. Each night Lafayette flopped into his hammock, sometimes with a few nice words from Caleb before exhaustion took him, and every morning his eyes would open. No stranger tried to slit his throat in the darkness. No slip up caused him to beg for his life as he had done upon his capture. Life was—dare he say it— routine. It was as though he has run off and joined an army, rather than been snatched from the safety of his ship. 

There was tension, naturally. Washington being the source of it. But the men feared punishment in the form of lashings and missed meals. They respected Washington...revered him. Perhaps that’s why they followed him to the edge of the world, so worn out and defeated from war that they had no choice but to cross the horizon with him. Every man aboard adored their captain, and by the way Washington and his close officers carefully planned each move, they could see he cared for them. 

And in the time Lafayette noticed all of this, it had been weeks. 

“How do our stores look?” Washington asked. He cut into his steak roughly, not trying to tear the meat so much as to pin the plate to the noticeably sloping table. Across the table Greene sat very still, one hand keeping his cup from tipping.

“Still plentiful. We’re only halfway through supplies from the  _ Isadora. _ That should be enough for us to venture further south into Tallmadge’s new shipping lane.” 

Lafayette stood pressed against the wall, his feet planted in a wide stance as the ship pitched in the darkness. As per Tallmadge’s method of secrecy he had guided the  _ Lexington  _ close to rough seas, taking advantage of the darkened sky to move south. The summer season was ripe with storms, meaning the ship could travel longer distances while skirting the edge of disaster. Tonight was tougher than most, and every officer at the table took his meal in small controlled bites. 

“Alexander, can you pass the bread?” Tallmadge said, his face looking a little pale. Hamilton begrudgingly tore off a tiny corner of the remaining loaf. Bread, it seemed, was the only food flying quickly. 

“Sop up your stomach, Benjamin. This was  _ your _ idea, after all.”

“ _ Alexander.” _ Washington clipped. The steak on his plate was in several pieces, but little attempt was made to bring them to his lips. Hamilton returned to his food, spearing a carrot as it tried to roll off his plate. Lafayette moved his hand over the open mouth of the wine jug to keep it safe. 

“Come now, you lads are young still.” Knox said, making full effort to clean his plate. “You should take to water faster than me or Captain, here.” Washington glared at Knox, tight lipped, as though trying to hide his own discomfort. 

“Dinner’s a bust, gentlemen.” Greene sighed. He pushed back his chair, and was surprised to have it slide a few inches down the room. “I’ll send tea up later to settle the stomach. But first, the men await. Let’s not keep them.” Lafayette sprung to action, following on Greene’s heels as he shambled out of the dining room. 

The sea had grown rougher over the course of the meal, and Lafayette had to brace himself along the narrow corridors of the ship to safely reach the galley. Greene did the same, noticeably thrown by the way the ship pitched downward sharply. 

“ _ Christ, Tallmadge.” _

Inside the galley were loaves of bread, fresh baked and sliced, as well as some cured meats and cheese. Greene sighed deeply as he looked it over.

“Have you ever served in rough seas?” Lafayette shook his head. “It won’t be pretty. Too much food and it all comes up all over the deck. Too little food and the stomach purges it out of hunger. And all this  _ rocking  _ doesn’t help. I don’t need to tell you whose job it’ll be to mop up the sick…” Lafayette grimaced at the thought of it.

“Let’s make this nice and simple. Every man gets a big piece of bread— _ generously big— _ a piece of cured meat, a piece of cheese, and an ale. I don’t think they need talking to about why. I’m sure they all know why.” Greene said. He picked up a platter of cured meats and headed for the door. “And  _ no seconds. _ Not that anyone will be asking.” 

“Yes sir.” Lafayette grabbed the platter of bread and headed for the dining hall, thanking the stars they didn’t have to carry anything that might roll free. 

The men didn’t need that talking to. In fact, there wasn’t much talking at all. The men murmured a few words to one another as the food arrived, but they kept mostly to themselves. In the dim light of the swaying candles Lafayette could see a few men holding their stomachs, already pale faced and sickly. They lined up and took their bread, meekly accepted their cheese and meat, and stopped for ale on the way back to their seats. All the while the seas outside became more violent. 

“That’s a storm, that is.” Caleb said quietly, holding his plate out. “We’re not skirting it, we’re in it.” A few men nodded in agreement, but spoke nothing more of it. 

The bell rang for the change of duty, and the men working above deck came down for their meal. At some point it must have begun to rain because these men were soaked to the bone. They made no attempt to change into dry clothes before taking their meal, perhaps needing every last hand on deck to keep the ship on course. They shuffled into an orderly line, skin raised in goosebumps from the cold, shoes squishing on the wood floor of the hall. Lafayette and Greene picked up the pace in an attempt to get them seated and fed. 

It was then, amid the monotonous shuffling, that a new sound arrived: a bell. A very loud, very  _ frantic  _ bell. It pierced through the air, ringing as though the man tugging on the chain were beating it with all his might. The men snapped from their haze, eyes alert as they exchanged looks.

“ _ ALL HANDS ON DECK! ALL HANDS ON DECK!”  _

The voice came down from the hall, so surprisingly clear that Lafayette flinched. In an instant the men were on their feet, scrambling for the door that led them above deck. Lafayette placed down the bread he was divvying up, unable to move as the men rushed out of the hall. It wasn’t until Greene threw down his apron and grabbed him by the shoulders that his senses returned to him.

“All hands means all hands, boy!” The  _ Lexington  _ veered sharply, sending plates of food skittering off the tables and onto the floor. “You won’t be cleaning those if we sink, come on now!” 

Lafayette bolted for the door, following the last of the men down the corridor to where the ladders began. The candles by the base of the ladders were extinguished, and Lafayette soon found why as he rushed to the first rung, his feet sloshing in water that had poured down. The bodies above him took most of the flack, each man turning their head as a rush of water cascaded down the chute. Whatever storm they had veered into, it was wiping the decks clean. 

Lafayette scrambled up the ladder, his legs pumping as hard as they could to keep up with the other men. On a fair weathered day, this hour would keep some daylight, but this was not the case as Lafayette neared the top deck of the ship. The storm had turned the sky a dark grey, with heavy patches of charcoal black along the darkening horizon. It made the sea and sky blend together in one dark, swirling mass, differentiated only by the white crests of waves. And by God...the waves…

They rose like mountains from the sea. Swells the likes of which Lafayette had never seen lifted the ship up, causing the world to tilt before letting the bow slam back down into the sea. The world erupted into white, sea spray toppling over the sides of the  _ Lexington _ and wiping across the deck. Lafayette caught the brunt of it as a swell clipped the side of the ship, causing water to pour down the hatch he was so frantically climbing. He lowered his head, letting the icy water rush over him as he attempted to hold his breath. Below him Greene did the same, waiting with one hand pressed to Lafayette’s lower back to keep him upright. Lafayette waited for what felt like forever, until the last of it trickled from his hair and down into the darkness below, before he moved.

“Go, boy! Before we get knocked below.” 

The hand on his back pushed him hard, and Lafayette crawled onto the deck and into the chaos. Men raced to and fro, ropes in hand, attempting to secure the lines. The rain beat down upon them, so heavy that some could not lift their gaze upward without being blinded. A crack of lightning split the sky, and more voices cried out over the wind.

“ _ Lower the sail! Lower the sail!”  _

From his spot on the deck Lafayette could spy Hamilton at the helm, hands on the wheel as he tried to turn the ship. The warning bell rang on, clanging in the wind beside him as he tried to veer out of the storm. Tallmadge was not far behind, his officer’s jacket discarded so that he could climb the ropes and take down the sails with the their men. Higher up, illuminated by another flash of lightning against the sails, was the trace outline of Brewster. 

“Cabin boy, over here!” A man yelled. Lafayette glanced over to see a few men securing a cannon to the deck, their hands full of tangled rope. “C’mere and hold this before we lose it!” Lafayette sprinted over, holding the cannon still as the men went about tying it to the metal hooks anchored into the deck. The knots were thick, but Lafayette could hear them strain with every turn of the ship. The men then moved on to the next cannon, urging Lafayette to follow them until each one had been secured.

Through all the chaos they did not falter. Each one tied their knots and moved to the next task like a well drilled soldier. Lafayette was a bumbling fool by comparison. He often tripped over his own feet, using his job as “cannon weight” to make up for the fact that he would fall onto the damned thing, using it to steady himself more than himself to steady it. All the while, water broke over the side of the ship, soaking the men and tangling the line. The wind howled like a man possessed, drowning out the orders shouted down from Tallmadge high above.

“ _ Drop!!... LINE!!! MAINSAIL!”  _

All at once the men found a rope, pulling hard to bring in the mainsail. The knots were released, and every man groaned as the wind tried to snap the sail free. Lafayette ran to an unattended line, following it with his eyes to see it was attached to the boom of the second sail. It rattled horribly in the wind, taking on more flack now that the main sail was being eased down. 

Without hesitation, Lafayette seized the line, pulling with all his might to keep the boom steady. Behind him he could hear the strain of the rope. The knot that secured the line creaked, tightening as it was pulled between the wind and ship. Lafayette could hardly see how he was helping, but with his hands put to use he felt as though he were doing his part to keep the ship right. It occurred to him briefly that every man there felt the same. He pulled with all his might, his arms burning and screaming as the wind tried to rip the rope from his hands. His shoes slid along the deck, forcing him to lean further back to gain control. Back...back… until—

_ Snap _

The tension on the line slackened before whipping forward, the knot securing it to the deck no longer tethered. The rope went with the wind, taking poor Lafayette with it as it catapulted over the edge of the ship. Lafayette cried out, seeing nothing but the swirling black ocean before him as he tipped head first over the rail. His feet lifted from the deck, and Lafayette squeezed his eyes shut so that he would not see the water before he hit it. 

Only he didn’t. Something else hit him instead. A strong arm around his waist, and a solid weight at his back. It wrangled him back to the deck, and Lafayette opened his eyes to see two arms working around him. The first encircled his waist, pinning him close. The other grabbed the runaway line pulling it in with more force than Lafayette alone could muster. Wiping the rain and sea spray from his eyes, Lafayette looked up to his savior, his gaze landing on the face of...Washington. 

Washington, yes. Only not in his full uniform as Lafayette knew him. He was in his shirtsleeves, obviously relaxing in his quarters before the storm hit. Lafayette stood pressed against his chest, seeing it clearly as the rain had soaked his shirt through. Washington towered over Lafayette, his chin only brushing the top of Lafayette’s hair as he leaned to take the line with both hands. Feebly, Lafayette did the same.

“Pull on my count.” Washington ordered. His tone was even, though Lafayette could not help but see the worry in his eyes as he surveyed the deck. “One, two, three,  _ heave.”  _  Lafayette pulled, and this time the rope came in. He gathered it at his feet, trying to focus on the line and not the two arms that worked beside him, or the solid form he leaned against to keep his balance. 

Two minutes later the line was secured. Lafayette vaguely recalls fumbling to tie the knot as Washington checked the rope. By now the mainsail was down, and the ship had stopped rocking considerably. Hamilton stood at the wheel, turning it more freely with a look of relief. Washington gave him a nod, and waited for one in return. Wearily, Hamilton nodded back. 

“Head below deck, Mr. DuPont. The worst is over.” 

Lafayette stumbled away from the rail, his mind coming down from the surge of adrenaline he had just endured. His gaze landed on Washington, who still leaned against the line in the rain, and something in his chest tightened.

“ _ Yes, sir.”  _ He sputtered. Washington raised an eyebrow, but did nothing further. 

* * *

Below decks was a mess. The corridors sloshed with sea water, and the lower crew worked with buckets to clean it up. 

“Captain better let us sleep in tomorrow.” One man griped, mop in hand. Another grunted in agreement as he went about lighting the doused candles that illuminated the ship. 

Lafayette hurried to the galley, sending that Greene would need his help most of all. A good portion of the crew had not been fed, and the mess hall was covered in dishes and ruined food. He entered to see Greene sitting tiredly at the prep table, two large pots of water heating over the fire. 

“Will...will we be serving the rest of the crew?” Lafayette asked. Greene shook his head.

“Not tonight. They know the drill. Big storm, I’ve got to clean up and take stock of what’s not ruined. If water got into storage we could have a food shortage.” He groaned. Lafayette looked to the boiling water next. 

“Officer’s baths. Can’t have them catching cold.” Greene said, sensing the question before it left Lafayette’s lips. “I’ll need you to take these up to Captain’s room.” 

“Captain Washington?” Lafayette sputtered. The image of Washington above deck flashed in his mind, and the sensation of his arm around his tiny waist made Lafayette’s pulse race. 

“Is there any other?” Greene sighed. He pointed to two buckets beside the door. “Fill those. And be careful, now. Don’t scald yourself. Bring them straight to Captain. And then you’re released for the evening. I can handle the others.” 

Lafayette nodded. He poured out one of the big pots, filling the two buckets close to the top. Steam rose off them, filling Lafayette with a sense of warmth he had not felt since his days in Versailles. How he wished he could soak in a tub tonight, instead of washing the salt from his body in a shallow grimy tub, in front of a hundred other men. But thoughts like those were hard to dwell on, and Lafayette took to the task of bringing up the water for Washington’s bath.

“Bath” was more of an overstatement. While there was a full tub in the corner of Washington’s quarters, he rarely filled it for a full bath. Most officers saved on water by limiting their full baths to once or twice a month, opting to fill a stand in basin the rest of the time to sponge down. While it would have been nice to soak the cold from their bones, Lafayette figured that the basin would do for a quick wash up, so that they could hastily head to bed and forget about their awful evening. 

Lafayette arrived at Washington’s door, thankful that only a little of the water has sloshed out of the buckets on his way up. Setting them down, he knocked twice, awaiting the ok to enter

“Come in.” 

Lafayette opened the door, slipping inside with the two steamy buckets. Glancing around, it was evident that the storm had taken its toll on every aspect of the ship. Washington’s orderly room was askew. Paintings hung off center, books were piled on the desk (though Lafayette felt they had just previously been picked off the floor), and the bed covers were undone. Sitting in his chair was Washington, still dressed in his soaked clothes. He stood as Lafayette entered the room, and Lafayette noticed he had already discarded his wet stockings and shoes. 

“Officer Greene sent me to…” Lafayette stopped his gaze from wandering to where Washington’s shirt clung to his chest. “...to fill your bath, Sir.” 

Washington motioned to the basin in the center of the room. It was shallow, perhaps only mid calf high. Good enough for a man to stand in. Lafayette sank to his knees, still wary of the rocking of the ship as he poured the first bucket into the basin. From across the room he heard the rustle of clothing, glancing up in time to see Washington peeling the wet shirt over his shoulders. 

Lafayette felt his cheeks flush, and was determined to blame it on the steam rising from the basin. He did not— _ could not— _ find this man attractive. The man who captured him. Stole him from his new life. As he swapped buckets, Lafayette heard more rustling. Though he willed himself not to, his eyes glanced upward, this time watching in silent disbelief as Washington slipped out of his breeches, and kicked them aside. 

Lafayette’s eyes wandered down the line of his chest, following the subtle trail of hair to where his member hung between his legs, pausing only a moment before returning to the task of filling the basin. He practically dumped the second bucket in, letting the rush of steam hit his face in an attempt to hide the blush creeping across his neck and chest. There  _ was something  _ he liked about Washington, but now wasn’t the time to think on it. Not when his clothes stuck to him so closely that he might as well be naked. Not where Washington could see the hardness in his breeches. 

Lafayette stepped  back from the basin, and watched meekly as Washington stepped in. He dipped a washcloth into the water, soaking it thoroughly before speaking.

“I am proud of your work tonight, Mr. DuPont.” Washington said. Lafayette tried to stare at the floorboards, and not at the way Washington raised the cloth to his chest, squeezing it out so that the water ran down his body. 

“I...I couldn’t hold the line.” Lafayette said quietly.

“I know. You’re a tiny one. But you tried to hold your own with my most seasoned men. It’s admirable.” He said, the cloth passing over his chest and down his stomach. Lafayette held one of the buckets close to him, hoping to conceal the bulge forming in his breeches.  _ Admirable.  _ Is that why Washington dove to save him? Why he chose to keep the lowest member of the crew, a captured mouth to feed, from toppling overboard? 

Lafayette’s mind wandered back to the sensation of Washington arm around his waist, and the flex of his body as he pulled in the line. His eyes flickered up to Washington now, gazing at him a little more longingly as the man rubbed himself down with the washcloth. The press of the bucket against him was harder now, and Lafayette could swear Washington were gazing back as if he could read his thoughts. His eyes rover over Lafayette as though he were nude— as though revisiting the memory of Lafayette stripped in his quarters all those weeks ago. It made something hot knot in his gut, and his knees buckle.

“Thank you, Captain.” Lafayette said. He waited a beat before continuing. “May I...may I be dismissed? I do not wish to disturb you during your... _ bath.”  _  Washington thought on it a moment, dipping the cloth back into the water. He gathered it up, washing his face and neck roughly before sighing.

“You are dismissed. Bright and early tomorrow I need you to scrub the decks. We must get rid of the salt.” 

Lafayette nodded. “Yes, thank you, sir.” It occurred to Lafayette that something else must be said before he slipped out for the night, something he never thought he would utter to Washington. “And..thank you...for saving my life.” 

Washington smiled softly. “You are very welcome, but it’s not necessary. You’re in my care, Mr. DuPont.” Lafayette nodded, unable to do more than clutch the bucket to him. “Go on, now. Head to sleep.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Lafayette grabbed the second bucket and slipped out the door, his heart thundering in his ears. His skin raised into goosebumps, the phantom sensation of eyes and hands upon him. He wanted Washington. That was certain. Wanted to feel him wrap his hands around his waist, pull him close. He wanted to feel the heat rise off his skin and be enveloped by him. Be _ in his care,  _ and see how softly he could smile. 

By now Lafayette breeches clung uncomfortably to his body, stiffened by salt water and strained by the ever growing hardness between his legs. In the dark of the corridor Lafayette walked quickly, each step reminded of how he ached. He couldn’t return to the sleeping quarters like this. Strip down and change in front of the others while teased by the image of Washington in his mind. With little hesitation, Lafayette took a sharp turn, and headed for the supply cupboard. He opened the door hastily, stepping inside amongst the brooms and buckets, taking full advantage of his tiny form. The door closed behind him, and nimbly he slipped one hand down the front of his breeches, stroking himself roughly.

  
“ _ Oh god” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for progress! I'm taking full advantage of my break to write a little more. As always, please leave comments if you like what you see. And feel free to follow me on tumblr @grumblebee-trilogy and on twitter @bifrostbite.

**Author's Note:**

> More washette can be found on my tumblr @grumblebee-trilogy. This story is a collab effort with @oohlalafayette (on twitter), so go check out her amazing work! 
> 
> If you like what you see, say hi and let me know!


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